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As I sign my name on the consent to treat line, Paul calls me to the counter and says he is ready. He escorts us to a small room with white walls and generic framed art across from the patient chair.
“We’ll do a cheek swab and draw blood.” He glances at his watch. “Results won’t be available for another twelve or so hours. Will you still be in the hospital?”
I shake my head. “No. We’re visiting a friend who had a baby.”
He nods as he wraps and ties the tourniquet around my distal bicep. “Make a fist.” He jiggles his gloved fingers over the veins at my elbow. “Nice veins.” His smile makes me want to smile, but I can’t muster the strength. “I’d recommend you don’t return to see your friend until we know what this is. Don’t want to expose the newborn.”
Just before the needle pricks my skin, I look up at Devlyn. He lets me squeeze his hand while I breathe erratically.
“Almost done,” he mouths.
The phlebotomist unties the elastic on my arms before easing the needle from my vein and bandaging me up. Next, he removes a long Q-Tip from a sealed tube, asks me to open my mouth and runs the cotton over the inside of my cheek. He places it back in the tube, seals it with a new sticker, then sets it next to the blood vials.
“All set,” he says, peeling his gloves away and washing his hands. “Take your time getting up.”
Back at the desk, he returns my identification and verifies my telephone number. “We’ll give you a call in the morning. Is there a time that works better for you?”
“Any time is good. Thank you, Paul.”
“You’re welcome. Go home and get some rest. We’ll talk in the morning.”
And with that, Devlyn and I amble out of the hospital. Devlyn thinking I may have some sort of cold and me considering the possibility of being pregnant.
Devlyn just went through so much with his mother. I don’t know if he is in the right headspace to discuss the likelihood of something other than the common cold. During the drive home, I keep the details of my late period to myself. More than pregnancy causes cycle disruption. Stress, diet, a change in sleep habits, physical exertion. No need to ratchet up his anxiety too.
It isn’t long before Devlyn parks in his driveway, guides me inside, and tends to me like the most adoring boyfriend. He cooks and feeds me, helps me with a bath, then curls up behind me under the covers.
As my eyes grow heavy, he kisses my shoulder then whispers, “Love you, Shelly.”
I tighten his grip around my belly, tears stinging the backs of my eyes. “I love you too.”
TWENTY-SIX
DEVLYN
We startle awaketo Shelly’s phone ringing on the nightstand.
“Hello,” she answers, voice thick with sleep. “This is Shelly Reed.” She goes quiet while the person on the other end speaks. I toy with her hair and wait for her to tell me the news. “Yes, I heard you. Thank you for the update.”
Shelly ends the call and stares at the ceiling with glassy eyes. Something twists in my gut. Something that says this isn’t just a cold. Maybe it’s something much worse. Cancer. Something with her heart. My mind races with various ailments I have heard of. Diseases that appear like common colds but are much worse.
I hate how quiet she is. I hate how scared she looks. More than anything, I hate that she won’t look me in the eye. As if I won’t like what she has to say.
Unable to deal with the silence any longer, I brush my knuckles over her cheek and swallow down my nerves. “You’re scaring me,” I mumble. A tear rolls down her temple. “Please talk to me, Shelly.”
“I don’t understand,” she whispers to the ceiling. “How?”
“How what?” God, I want to shake the information from her brain and soothe away her fears.
Finally, she turns to meet my gaze. “I’m scared.” Another tear spills and I am ready to crawl out of my skin.
“I can’t help unless you tell me what’s wrong.”
“Please don’t hate me.”
This has me confused. Why would I hate Shelly for being sick? “No matter what it is, we’ll get through this.” I drop my lips to hers to seal the vow. “I love you, Shelly.”
She closes her eyes, takes a deep breath, then opens them. “I don’t have a viral infection.”
